I smiled at his brilliant survival instinct.
Father cleared his throat. His voice was growing hoarse, but he continued anyway. “Usually an older vampire stayed in the chamber with Bodi while he cleaned my lacerations. But, for some reason, no one else was there. Just the child and me. Remember how I had said that I couldn’t bring myself to stake him when I was first approached by his parents?”
I nodded.
“After a couple of days of torture, my attitude toward this violent little monster had altered in such a way, that if I’d had a stake, I’d have driven it through his heart and out the other side, but as it were, I had no weapon at all. Bodi took wet linen and began washing away dried blood. I opened my eyes at the tiniest sliver, watching him. He finished with one cut, lifted the cloth, and as he turned to dip the cloth in more water, I wrapped my hand firmly around his throat.
“He attempted to scream but I clutched his throat so tightly he made no sound at all. He bore fangs and his eyes filled with rage. I rose, lifting him with me, and looked around the chamber. His clawed hands flailed at my face, but I kept him out of reach, so he dug his claws into my forearm. He gnashed wildly with inhuman strength, trying to growl. When I noticed the narrow door that led to the stairs, I flung him across the room against a marble casket. His head struck the cold stone, but he scrambled to his feet and tore after me anyway, seemingly unharmed.”
Father sipped more water. Sweat formed on his forehead. He seemed paler and his eyes vacant. He was reliving the nightmare. “All I could think was to get out of there as fast as I could. I ran up the stone steps two at a time, reached the next level, and immediately had to turn and head up another set. I did this twice, almost shrouded in darkness, with the little monster rushing after me. His growls weren’t human. He was indeed a monster.”
Momma took a cloth and wiped his brow. She eased onto the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him.
“Bodi shrieked from the level below, and an army of other hissing cries were moving directly behind him, all coming for me. I hit the double doors after the final set of stairs, knocking them open with a thunderous crash. Free, or so I had thought. The doors opened into the cemetery. The sun hung in the western sky with enough light to keep the vampires from emerging and pursuing me. I slowed my pace and looked back, puffs of white exited my nose and mouth as the harsh cold settled around me. Their fiery eyes glowed in the shadows where the sun couldn’t reach. I read their anger. I felt their bloodlust and sensed how badly they wanted to kill me. The sun was there with what should have been a few more hours for me to get farther away. Then snowflakes drifted around me.”
“The blizzard,” I said.
He nodded. “The band of gray clouds moved swiftly, sunlight rapidly fading. I ran. It hurt my lungs, but I forced myself to keep going. Heading through the alley, I found a discarded shirt and coat in a pile of garbage. Probably left for the derelicts, but the alley was empty of people. I imagine everyone was hidden anywhere they could find warmth. I grabbed the clothes and put them on while I ran, thankful the vampires had never removed my slacks and boots.
“I paused midway down another alleyway to catch my breath. I was weak from the loss of blood, and the cold brought chills and aches unlike any I’d known before. Daylight had dimmed, but it was still bright enough that I didn’t fear encountering my bloodthirsty pursuers. Once I caught my breath, I hurried and took a shortcut across the park to get to our forest path. But heavier wet snow fell, and was piling fast. My boots slipped on the ground and prevented me from keeping enough traction to run. Never had I witnessed a snowstorm like this one.”
I nodded. The storm had blanketed the forest within a few minutes and didn’t stop during the night.
Father closed his eyes and sighed. I almost expected him to stop talking, but he seemed determined to disclose the events, perhaps to strengthen his resolve by expounding upon his strong will to survive. Being alive signified that he had won his battle with Baron Randolph, for now, at least.
He continued, “At the edge of the park, the land slopes sharply. Without a natural trail, it’s difficult to move. I slipped and fell several times because the building snow deceived me. It had buried holes, loose rocks, and jagged tree branches, making it impossible to know where to safely step.
“At one point, I fell into a narrow groove that was a runoff ditch whenever we have heavy rains. I grabbed a tree branch and pulled myself up. The overcast skies had shut out any remnants of the sun. Nightfall was still an hour or so away, but the full sky was dark. I looked back toward the park, and I saw him.”
I frowned. “Who? Baron Randolph or Bodi?”
“Randolph.” The expression that swept over Father’s face was that of pure fear, and even now, safe inside our cottage, the power of the baron gripped him.
“You can tell me the rest later,” I said. “Get some rest.”
He shook his head. “No, son, you need to know what we’re dealing with. The baron has power unlike any vampire I’ve ever faced.”
“You’ve killed six vampires, right?” I asked.
“Six. And all of them together wouldn’t equal the baron’s strength.”
“The six you killed. Did you kill them individually or all together?”
“Each separately. I don’t have the gift like you, so I’d never put myself against more than one of them at a time. That’s why I ran out of the lair.”
“That’s a wise decision for anyone,” I replied. “No shame in that.”
My father grinned and then laughed.
“What?”
“In time, son,” he replied. “You’ll see, in time.”
“What exactly shall I see?”
“The power that will bless you. All I do is try to help eliminate the vampire population, but I’ll never be remembered as one that made a phenomenal difference in thinning their numbers. There’s the strong chance that you might. You’re young but already formidable.”
I never understood how that was a trait anyone coveted. I wanted to present myself as a giant with a tender caring heart. But I was still young. I had no knowledge of how killing vampires weighed upon the mind and soul. Of course, these undead were vile creatures and a plague that deserved to be eradicated, but it still took quite a lot to drive a stake through something’s heart. A lifetime of killing them could eventually lead someone to become cold and indifferent to the world. Merriment shouldn’t become a correlation for killing the undead. Anyone that took delight in such violent acts probably had psychological problems they had left unchecked. Jacques and my father both had told me that I was going to be renowned for my bestowed duties and feared by the undead. In theory it sounded like a wonderful reputation. But over time, the reality unveiled itself as a solitary life constantly moving from city to city.
I acquiesced with a slight nod toward him. How else did you really reply to such a statement made by your father? He esteemed what I was to become. I still was uncertain about it. By saying more I could enact a hidden jealousy on his part, causing a rift between us.
My silence was an invitation for him to continue.
“The baron stood several hundred yards away,” he said. “He stood at the edge of the park beneath a towering tree. An instant later, he was on the slope standing face-to-face with me. No footprints were on the snow behind him. He was . . . just there. A sudden shout escaped me and I toppled backwards, falling into the rough snow-covered gulley. A branch snapped beneath my weight, its sharp jagged end protruding from the snow near my waist. I gripped it in my hand.”
“Did he not say anything?” I asked.
“No. Not then. Holding the sharp stick, I scooted backwards, hoping to slide down the slope outside of his reach. He smiled, revealing his fangs. His eyes were demon-like and red. Bramble thorns clawed at my coat, and my struggle to get away opened the lacerations on my stomach. A thin line of blood seeped through the thin shirt, drawing his hunger. His eyes flicked toward the blood. He went for my throat befor
e I could stop him.
“There were two sharp pricks, a moment of pain, and then forceful suction. I almost froze, but I remembered the stick. I rammed the stick into his gut. I had no way to strike his heart. How I wished I had. But the stick went deep. He reared back and pulled away. The stick protruded from his side. I rolled over and pulled myself down the gulley with my knees and elbows until harsh pain radiated in my left leg. I roared in pain and rolled. I looked to see him swing his cane above his head and then he thrashed my right leg. I felt the snap and the pain was too much.”
Momma closed her eyes and covered her mouth.
“How did you get away from him?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I awakened a short time later. Snow caked over me like a thin blanket. My legs throbbed with pain. I glanced around and couldn’t find him. I wished the wood had found his heart. I pulled myself down the sloped gulley. The trees grew thicker, so I knew I was almost home. I expected at any time, the baron would appear and finish me. Like I feared, he stood directly in my path.”
My father took a deep breath and caressed Momma’s hair with his hand as she laid her head against his chest. “He clutched me by the throat, bit his wrist, and filled my mouth with his blood. I tried to spit it out, but he forced his wrist harder to my mouth. I gagged. It was horrible. With little effort he flung me through the air, down the slope, and I awakened later. Numb from the cold, I hardly remember further pain, and faintly remember knocking on our cottage door.”
His face appeared aged, reliving the event. He no longer held the boldness that had always overshadowed him. He was vividly weakened by his fear.
“Since he came to our home looking for you,” I said, “it seems that he must have thought you dead after he tossed you down the hillside.”
Father nodded. “By all accounts, son, I should have been dead.”
I rose to my feet and kissed the top of his head. “The important thing, Father, is that you’re not. Get some sleep. I’ll tend the fire and gather a few pails of snow to melt.”
He smiled and pointed a finger. “You’re a good son, Forrest. Don’t forget about keeping the stake on you during the night.”
“I won’t.”
“Might be wise to take it whenever you go outdoors.”
“It’s not nightfall, yet,” I replied.
“It’s always nightfall somewhere, Forrest, especially when you close your eyes.”
Chapter Ten
Another three weeks passed before Momma and I helped my father to the edge of the bed so he could stand for the first time since Jacques had set the bones and she had bound his legs. He had endured five weeks of being bedridden and had nagged us the entire previous week to let him get out of bed. My mother remained adamant, refusing to allow him to get up.
Needless to say, the cottage was filled with their constant bickering—him wanting to get up and her insistent refusal to let him. I spent a lot of time outdoors cutting wood, hunting, and thinking.
After Father had given us the details of how the baron had nearly killed him, I didn’t bother asking for the conclusion of what Jacques had told me about Father becoming a vampire hunter. I could wait. There were other subjects I also wished to discuss, but his aggravation of being stuck inside the cottage didn’t put him in the best of moods. Whenever his patience was shortened, one didn’t seek conversation with him. Avoidance was best.
While tending to my outdoor chores, I thought about Bodi quite often. I brooded about him actually. It troubled me that a child had been turned into a vampire. Someone my own age. He was trapped inside a child’s body, growing in age and wisdom, but robbed of everything a normal person experienced during adolescence and early adulthood. He’d never experience such things. Being turned into a vampire was unfair for anyone, but for a small child that had looked more like a toddler, that was a horrible fate for someone to endure.
Although I had befriended Bodi when I first enrolled in school, his inner turmoil had already blossomed before we met. His inner pain was coiled tightly, awaiting its opportunity to be released. He had felt helpless, defenseless, and ignored and didn’t have any way to enact upon it. His imagination must have constantly entertained horrible things to happen to those who had mistreated him and set an unprecedented need inside his mind to gain the gratification of watching his enemies suffer agonizing deaths. Becoming a vampire had given him the power to recompense evil to them for their misdeeds. He needed to be stopped before he killed any more children, which unfortunately meant that he needed to be killed. There wasn’t any other choice. Otherwise, his urges to inflict pain steadily increased like an insatiable appetite, and I suspected his brutality would evolve into bloody mutilations that no one had ever witnessed before. I never mentioned my thoughts about Bodi to my father or mother, though. Neither would have been pleased by my conclusions.
I didn’t struggle with the decision like my father had. I knew what happened if Bodi continued his undead existence. But my intent wasn’t to go after him. Not directly. Not unless it became absolutely necessary, and no other alternative could be found. What I wanted was the master, or at the least, the one who had turned Bodi. Killing the one responsible for turning him should destroy Bodi, too.
At least that was what I had interpreted from my conversation with Jacques. He had implied that the dagger allowed me to control the master, and if I killed the master, his offspring died as well. Did that occur only when you killed a genuine master? What if one of his offspring created a new vampire and you killed that vampire’s chosen? Did that also kill the new vampire? These were questions for which I needed answers. I needed to understand the hierarchy and its limitations.
By trial and error I eventually learned the truth.
I didn’t know who had turned Bodi, and it was my hope that if I killed the vampire responsible, Bodi crumbled to dust as well. That way, I didn’t personally need to stake Bodi. But things never worked exactly how one hoped.
Momma and I helped my father to his feet. With his arms draped across our shoulders, he minimized the amount of weight he pressed down with and gradually increased it until all he needed from us was balance.
“How do your legs feel?” I asked.
“Weak. A bit sore. Hold onto me and help me across the room.”
He gripped my arm tightly. His first few steps were staggered and slow. He walked better than I had anticipated, especially since he had gained weight. Color had returned to his face. All he needed was to build up the strength in his thin legs, and he had his freedom to get out of the cottage again, which would probably be an even greater blessing for my mother.
Father grinned. “A couple of days hobbling around the cottage, and I’ll be ready to head outdoors for fresh air.”
I nodded.
“As soon as I’m able, you know what you and I shall do?” he asked.
Giving a slight shrug, I replied, “No, but I’m guessing you’ll tell me.”
“We’ll visit our neighbor Fane and barter with him to give us a ride in his wagon.”
I frowned. “To where?”
He pointed and shook his finger toward the ceiling. “Ah, we must have an expert craft you a hunter’s box. You’ll need holy water as well, which requires us to visit a priest.”
“A priest?” The word was foreign to me and made me uncomfortable. Why exactly? I wasn’t certain.
“Certainly,” he replied. “Who else can bless the water?”
“It’s a religion that we are not associated with, Father.”
“So?”
“Doesn’t that make a difference?”
He frowned at me. “How? In what way?”
I shrugged. “It’s not important.”
A cross. Holy water. Their book. These things and what they represented were foreign to me. How could you properly use them, when your faith abided in different rituals? These relics seemed essential to my father. But yet, other than securing vials of holy water, he had never graced a cathedral door to my knowledge. See
med to me that you needed to have faith tied to the relics before they properly worked. Our ancestors came from the Old Believers, rebelling against the Orthodox, and essentially, my elders had turned from any type of organized religion due to its strict control and assertiveness. They had reverted back to paganism. At eight years of age, I had not been exposed to anything other than watching my mother gather herbs, ritually read her worn Tarot cards each night, and she often gazed at the stars. We were modest people, and until going through my father’s hunter box, I had never suspected we had any cathedral symbols within our home. Had my father converted to this religion without our knowledge? I didn’t know. For me to become a vampire hunter, was it expected of me as well? I hoped not.
“Blessed salt,” he muttered. “You’ll need that too.”
I thought about the burnt cross outline on my father’s chest, and the one he said Bodi bore on his cheek. Obvious power had caused the heat that burned him and Bodi. How and why?
The blessed conflicted against the eternally damned came to mind. At least that was in the legends. Although we had gone to school to learn, children were given to superstitions about the supernatural. Being in the country where these creatures stalked the night, how could we not whisper our fears to one another? We sought knowledge that could protect us. Strangely, Bodi had become what we feared the most.
My father busied himself sorting through his hunter box. I couldn’t help but to think his former suggestion was accurate. I did need outside training. Someone experienced with my particular calling and not self-proclaimed. Only then would my understanding be enlightened, and I’d have the proper guidance.
Chapter Eleven
One week later, my father and I visited Fane. By chance Fane happened to be taking his small wagon into the city and absolutely refused to accept Father’s monetary offer.
Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One] Page 8
